


The Warlock's Reckoning

by Lunik



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Antagonist POV, Coma, Gen, Grief, Peril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-23
Updated: 2011-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunik/pseuds/Lunik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgana always thought she knew what she wanted. It's only when she almost gets her way that she realises she has no idea what's going on in her own head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The wind was blowing through the heights of the arboreal cathedral that was the Beddau Woods, and it sounded like calling Arthur’s name. Morgana smiled over at her brother. Her dear father’s son, talking away, unable to hear the eerie promise carried in the sky. Unable to sense the gathering hunger at his feet. His slow lips moving as he pointed out some piece of pointless history to Merlin. His eyes slack and vacant like any non magic user’s would be in a place like this. Not suspecting, not fearing, not _seeing_ the shadows that stalked the edges of Morgana’s sight. She allowed herself to feel her own generosity for him then. He would not feel any fear before his death.

Her eyes slid from her brother’s face to his servant’s. Merlin, on the other hand, may not have seen the following dark, but Morgana felt a thrill to know that he knew it was there. Merlin would fear. But he could not stop her.

Merlin looked up, as if he could feel her looking, and Morgana delighted to see the tension in the line of his mouth, the anger and fear and suspicion all mixed up in his eyes. No, Merlin couldn’t stop her now. The magic was all cast, and no one could save Arthur now.

—

 _Morgana should have seen sooner what Merlin had done. She was too sure that this time Arthur would be removed from her path to Camelot’s throne, like a stubborn spot lifted from a silk dress. The warrior prince would be purged to make way for her kingdom of sorcerers. She knew that Merlin watched her, but there was nothing a servant boy could do to impede this latest plan Morgause had given her._

 _It had been slow, the preparation, and too close to Merlin for Morgana’s comfort, but all her hours and surreptitiously stolen bandages and cloths that Arthur had used on the training field had paid off, and Merlin’s chance to act was past. Morgana had carried out the painstaking work of coaxing each drop of royal blood out of the grimy cloth, all behind the closed doors of her chambers. Not even Merlin would have dared to disturb her there. And after she had a full phial, sloshing darkly against the glass, all there was left that Merlin could do was to glare at her suspiciously in the hallways._

 _Or so she had thought. Merlin had found his way in, alone in a lady’s chamber under the pretence of laying her fire. When Morgana had arrived, he had spun guiltily in place, and a fierce jolt of anger ran through her as she saw the precious phial of Arthur’s blood in his hand._

 _  
(Anger, yes, and maybe something else? The thrill of her deception was always best when she could feel Merlin’s eyes on the back of her head, and when Arthur was in his grave and all of Camelot mourning his loss, Morgana’s victory would be all the sweeter for the fact that one of her new subjects would know the part she played. Perhaps when all was done she would keep Merlin alive. Perhaps find him a place in the royal household, and his hatred of her could keep her warm at nights.)   
_

_Her eyes flashed over gold, where no one but Merlin would see her, and the blood in his hand flew across the room to slap against her palm. (It felt warm, and it moved more freely against the glass than it should have. If she had noticed it then… But all her attention was on Merlin, and making sure he understood how little power he had to stand in her way.) “Do you really think it’s wise for you to be here, Merlin?” she asked, a hiss to her voice that she never knew if she liked. It was a voice she only ever used in Merlin’s presence._

 _He didn’t look afraid. He never did look like he feared her, because he was a fool. An idiot, like her brother always said. All of the things Morgana could do to him, all the things she had planned for when there was no kindly prince to miss his presence… Merlin would have feared her if he knew her heart. Instead, he stood alone in the chambers of a sorceress and demanded, “What are you going to do with that?”_

 _Morgana smiled, the genuine smile that only Merlin saw these days, and more full of spite than she liked in herself. “This, Merlin?” She lifted the phial in her hand. “This is the blood of Arthur Pendragon.”_

 _He glared. “I know. What are you planning to do with it?”_

 _His voice was part defiance, part exasperation, **I know.** Morgana’s jaw tightened. Even now, knowing her power, Merlin wouldn’t show her the proper deference. A lifetime ago she had admired that in him, but now it only made her impatient, heightened her temper, made her want to see him hurt. “See if you can figure that out yourself.” she snapped, and swung the door open with another flash of copper light in her eyes. “If I find you in my rooms again, Merlin, I’ll tell Uther that you’ve insulted my honour.”_

—

The spirits were close, now, so close that Morgana could swear she felt their shrouds trailing across her ankles. She saw them weaving through the trees now, crowding around the three intruders into their Woods. They might have been sheets drifting in the wind, the way their funeral shrouds blew weightless in shreds around them. But the fabric was ancient and dry, and thin enough that it moulded to the dead mouths and gaping eye sockets of the rotting faces underneath. Arthur looked through them and smiled at his servant’s nervousness.

Morgana watched him, her eyes as hungry as the spirits. It couldn’t be long now. Soon, he would know her true face, and then he would die. Soon, Merlin would watch, helpless to do a thing, and he would know that Morgana was the victor of this struggle between them.

A spirit swept across the path behind them, and Morgana followed it with her eyes, only belatedly realising that Merlin’s head had turned as well. She kept the excited smile where Arthur wouldn’t see it. If they were already visible… It would all be over soon.

But Arthur was only looking at his manservant. “What is it _this_ time, Merlin? You’ve been jumping at shadows since we passed the forest boundary.”

“Nothing.” Merlin lied. He was the worst liar Morgana knew. “I just thought I saw… A snake?” Morgana shook her head. There was no point in lying. Arthur would know, and he would die. “All right, we’ve seen the Woods now, maybe we should go back?”

Ordinarily, Morgana would have said something, spurred Arthur on to ridicule the trepidation out of his servant, but today she was watching the swirling of ghostly fabric through the trees. Besides, as always, Arthur was quick enough to ridicule on his own.

“Really, Merlin? Snakes? You’re more of a princess than Morgana is, you know that?” He slung an arm over Merlin’s shoulder, dragging the other man close. “Don’t be scared, princess! I’ll protect you from the terrors of a walk in the woods! Come on, Merlin, anyone would think you didn’t want to come.”

—

 _He hadn’t wanted to. Morgana had suggested Arthur should accompany her into the Beddau Woods and Merlin had instantly asked about the rumours that the place was haunted. Morgana had narrowed her eyes at how quickly he reached the heart of her plans, but the question had been enough, mercifully, to start Arthur teasing him. Merlin’s reluctance had been the last thing Arthur needed to convince him he had to come with Morgana, and to drag his servant along as well. Morgana had thanked Merlin for that, aloud and in Arthur’s presence where he couldn’t make any reply._

 _Still, Merlin had objected loudly and continuously, enough that Morgana wondered if he actually knew her brother at all. His pleas fell on deaf ears, and they came to the Woods where Morgana would finally win the fight (and Morgause would see her strength). All she would have to do would be to lead them to the spot at the arcane centre of the Beddau Woods, to the clearing in between the trees where she had let the earth drink Arthur’s blood. Once the spirits of the wood had tasted him, they would hunt him down. There would be no escape for Camelot’s heir now. Convincing the king to name her as his daughter after he lost his only son would be easy, and it would be hardly any work to kill the old man. After all, he had no loyal manservant to guard him like he was all the world. Uther had no friends. His death would be short and brutal. Perhaps she would find a way to have Merlin blamed._

 _And then she would be queen._

—

Merlin struggled out from underneath Arthur’s arm, and the two of them tussled like children. The motion sent Merlin sprawling to the forest floor.

Instead of standing straight up, Merlin paused, his eyes fixed on the leaves of a holly bush, low to the ground. Morgana saw what he was looking at. The spell had called for her to sprinkle Arthur’s blood on the ground, and shining on the waxy holly leaves were several drops of the dark liquid, dried brown. Merlin looked in her eyes. “Is that… Is that blood?”

“Merlin, stop being such a girl!” Arthur exclaimed, sounding delighted. “Forests don’t bleed, not even haunted-”

He was stopped in his tracks by the sudden wall of sound that assaulted all three of them. A terrible, inhuman roar, vast and harrowing, filled the air around them. Both Merlin and Arthur looked up, scanning the sky urgently, but Morgana knew better and she looked down. Seeping up through the earth at their feet was a grey mist, threaded through with scraps of fabric. Involuntarily, she clutched at the protective amulet Morgause had given her and threw a glance in the direction of the unprotected prince and his servant. Merlin had no amulet, but Morgana knew if she had cast her spell right the ghosts would have only one victim in mind. Merlin was stuck with her to watch.

Arthur looked back down and cursed, his hand flying to his sword. The mist was forming a huge face, its mouth gaping open around Arthur’s feet like it would swallow him up, and Merlin with him. Arthur grabbed his servant’s elbow to drag them both out of the clearing. He stared in open horror down at the apparition that had taken over the forest floor. Morgana’s breath came fast, apprehension and anticipation as the vapourous mass dragged itself free of the earth and towered over them.

But Merlin wasn’t looking at it. He was staring frantically around the shadows in the trees, searching the woods for gods knew what. Morgana swallowed the sudden doubt, the thought that Merlin might have found some way out of this, but then one spectre dragged itself free of the seething mass of incorporeal rags and surged into the clearing, towards the servant.

Merlin cried out in alarm, throwing himself flat to the ground, and the spirit passed over his head, rejoining the swirling mass on the other side. Merlin scrambled back to his feet, putting distance between himself and Arthur, and every ghost in the treeline moved with him. Even the colossal spectre looming over them turned what passed for its face to follow the movement of the prince’s manservant and Morgana’s mouth fell open in horror.

They followed Merlin.

Not a one of them spared its attention for Arthur.

Merlin’s eyes met Morgana’s, both of them realising in that moment what the other had done.

Then Merlin broke and ran. But the moment before he passed the edge of the clearing was something Morgana thought she would remember, possibly for the rest of her life. As he reached a crest in the ground, a ridge of rock that formed the boundary of the forest clearing, he turned and looked back. All the ghosts of the Beddau Woods watched him hungrily. He waited until he was sure that every cold dead eye in the clearing was on him, and then he was gone, running down the bank of the forest path.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted after him, and stupidly, Morgana was surprised to remember that she and Merlin hadn’t been alone in the clearing. A cold wind screamed past them both as the ghosts of the wood followed after their prey, and the air went momentarily dark as the colossus from the blood soaked ground, the ground soaked in _Merlin’s_ blood, passed by. Morgana shivered, and then Arthur was gripping her suddenly by the shoulders. “Morgana, I need you to go back to the forest boundaries and wait there. They’re only chasing Merlin, god knows why, but you should be safe if you go straight there.”

He didn’t wait for her to reply, but turned to sprint after Merlin, and Morgana didn’t think twice before running after them both. “I don’t think so, Arthur!” she called, as her feet slipped on the steep downward slope.

“Morgana, I promise you I will bring Merlin back alive,” Arthur shouted, not slowing down, “but I can’t protect you both! I need you to listen to me, just this once-”

“Shut up and run, Arthur!”

Arthur was prevented from replying as the same unearthly roar ripped through the air again, and Morgana’s hand went to the amulet that kept her safe. Up ahead, Merlin had ducked off the path into the dense trees, and in following the colossus had burst apart into tendrils of smoke.

Smoke that still followed Merlin as he crashed through the undergrowth, smoke filled with the flowing rags of a thousand funeral shrouds. His head was hunched low as he ran, and Arthur and Morgana were forced to veer off the path or risk losing him. Merlin was fast, faster than she would have thought. Faster than Morgana in her stupid shoes, and faster than Arthur in the heavy chain shirt that Merlin had convinced him to wear. But not faster than the spirits, as they rushed in between the trees, insubstantial as the wind. Low hanging branches whipped past Morgana’s face as she ran, and brambles caught at her skirts, and somehow the skinny figure running ahead of her slipped from her sight.

Arthur’s, too it seemed, and he slowed, staring wildly around. “Merlin?” he called, breathless. “Merlin!”

Around them, the air boiled with scraps of shrouds and smoke, the Beddau ghosts whipped into a frenzy. All the woods were leaning, Morgana could feel it, pulled in by the gravity of Merlin’s heartbeat, but Arthur was like a blind man unable to see the sun. _This way_ , the pull whispered to Morgana, but Arthur was spinning in place, looking for Merlin with nothing but his eyes. Fear was etched across his face, and Morgana hesitated, then-

Merlin’s voice broke the air, screaming, and Morgana caught her brother’s hand. “ _This way!_ ” she breathed, and they ran.

Merlin was on his knees. As Morgana and Arthur burst through the trees, a spirit flew at him, lifting him from the ground and slamming him into the rough bark of an ancient tree’s trunk. Smoke streamed against him, _through_ him, through the tree and out the other side, and he screamed again. Morgana’s breath left her.

Arthur drew his sword, as if there was a thing he could do to stand against the spirits, and as Merlin dropped back to the ground, limp as a rag doll, Arthur planted himself in front of him. He held up his sword in a threatening stance, but the spirits paid him no attention. They just streamed around him, and as Merlin struggled onto his hands and knees they swarmed around him. This time, Morgana heard bones snap.

Arthur’s sword fell away. “No!” he shouted, powerless, as powerless as Morgana had wanted Merlin to be. But then he darted forward, reaching into the mass of hunger and pain, and he _dragged_ Merlin bodily out of it. Morgana stared.

Clutching his servant’s body to him, Arthur batted at the ghosts seething around them both. “Get back!” he was shouting, “Back! I won’t let…!”

Morgana was pressed back into an elm tree, as far away as she could be and still watch it happen. Arthur could still die. It could still be worth it.

But Merlin, his face turned into Arthur’s neck, his skin smeared with blood, his mouth twisted in pain, Merlin was trying to speak. Garbled half-words spilled from his lips, and somehow, somehow the ghosts were drawing back.

Not far, but far enough that Arthur was able to surge to his feet, swinging Merlin up into his arms, and run. “Come on, Morgana!” he shouted, as Morgana stood frozen, fingers curling into the bark of the elm. “Come on! Run!”

Unable to do anything else, Morgana did.

—

Though nothing followed them, Arthur was at the very boundary of the forest before he consented to let Merlin go. His mail shirt was wet with blood, and Merlin was whiter than any funeral shroud. As he laid his servant in the hollow of a rotted tree, sheltered behind a moss covered boulder, Morgana could still see the shaky rise and fall of his chest to show he was alive.

Arthur gripped his shoulder, slid it up to his jaw, shaking him, and Merlin’s eyes fell open. His face was tight with pain, but he sought out Morgana’s face. For a moment of bubbling irrationality, Morgana thought she saw relief there, like Merlin was glad to find her.

“Merlin.” Arthur was saying, “Merlin, can you hear me?” Merlin’s mouth opened, worked soundlessly, trying to form words, but his eyes didn’t leave Morgana’s. Arthur ran his hands along Merlin’s arms, feeling out the broken bones, and along his ribs, his breath quickening. “Look at me Merlin. Merlin, try to stay awake. You have to…” He caught at Merlin’s shirt, peeling it back to show crisscrossing patterns of deep gouges across his chest, and gasped. “What do I do?” he whispered. “Oh, god, what do I do?”

Merlin’s hand caught Arthur’s fingers as they skimmed past his wrist, and held on. His breath was coming hard now.

Later, Morgana would dream of this, so vividly that she would wonder about her healing bracelet. She would dream of the way Merlin held Arthur’s hand, comforting, yes, but she’d dream of the way his eyes never left hers until he couldn’t keep them open any longer. In her dreams he would look like he wasn’t scared at all. In her dreams, his gaze would be steady, his eyes boring into her, that gaze lingering as he slipped away.

In that moment, after his eyes slid closed, all she thought was that she would take what she could get. Arthur’s death would have been better, but Merlin’s death would be enough.

—

But somehow he was still breathing when Arthur rode his horse right up to Gaius’ door. He burst through the door, shouting for help, and Morgana followed, mostly to assure herself that he couldn’t be saved. His wounds were still bleeding, his hair was damp and his skin chalk white down to his lips. Even the scant motion of his chest wasn’t quite enough to dispel the illusion that Arthur had dumped a corpse on the pallet bed.

Gaius, ever the physician, was spurred into motion the moment he heard them at his door. Like he had a hundred times before he swept around the room gathering cases and bandages, but when he saw who it was that Arthur laid on his bed he stilled so quickly he might have been struck to stone. The colour drained from his face and Morgana had to swallow hard. She shook the heavy guilt away as Gaius pushed aside the horror of working on the bloody wounds of his own apprentice.

“What can I do?” Arthur hovered at the physician’s shoulder. “Gaius, tell me how I can help.”

“Hold this.” Gaius replied shortly, gesturing to a pad of bandage he held against Merlin’s chest. All ‘sires’ and ‘my lords’ vanished as they always did when Gaius had blood up to his wrists. “Morgana, you’ll have to leave.”

“But I can help…” Morgana wanted to watch Merlin die, she’d earned it by dying in his arms a year ago.

“Get out.” Gaius snapped, shaking up a bottle of some suspension, and this was unlike even his normal bedside demeanour. He glanced up. “…I need room to work. Please, Morgana. Arthur will bring you news.”

Morgana hesitated, but swept out if the room. It was all over except for the false tears anyway. As she looked back she caught one glimpse of Merlin’s ghost white face, the blood smeared across his throat and the barest rise and fall of his chest as Arthur tried to hold him inside his skin, and then Gaius pushed the door shut.


	2. Chapter 2

As she had expected, when Morgana came to tell Morgause what had happened she was disappointed. But even the look in her sister’s eyes, the one that always said _I was wrong to give you such responsibility_ , even that wasn’t enough to quell the triumph in Morgana’s heart. This had been a victory. She had never told Morgause, but there had been the slightest tremor of doubt in her mind about the plan to kill Arthur. He had been a brother to her, even before she had known they shared blood. But Merlin… Merlin had been her trusted friend and he had killed her. And now she had killed him.

Oh, Arthur had told her that Gaius had stopped his wounds bleeding, that he was _stable_ , but he hadn’t been able to wake him. They would never be able to wake him.

And now that she had killed him, she knew it would be easier to kill Arthur. Not just because Merlin wouldn’t be able to protect him, the only person in Camelot who knew of her plans – and not just because she now knew that Arthur would be at Merlin’s bedside every day for no less than an hour, open and vulnerable in his grief and his empty hopefulness… It would be easier for Morgana to kill a man who had loved her, and whom she had loved because she knew she could kill Merlin.

And so she quietly revised her vision of her future on Camelot’s throne, removing the dark bowed head of a servant boy in mourning that she had always pictured in the background. Letting go of that glare of impotent anger that she had so enjoyed, and giving up the thrill of danger that she had imagined would come from knowing there was someone in her court who knew her heart.

Morgause told her that they needed to make another attempt on Arthur’s life, and soon, to take advantage of his grief, but Morgana only smiled. She deserved a few days at least to savour her victory.

—

Morgana had always been the kind of little girl who listened at doorways. Windows, too, if there was no doorway available. People alway told you more when they didn’t know you were listening, and this habit could only become more useful while she lived in a castle full of people whose downfall she was planning. It was lonely in Camelot these days and listening to other people’s conversations kept her safe, and sane, and sometimes got her ahead.

Listening at her own doorway was a new experience for her, but one she was open to. Hearing Arthur’s voice, and Gwen’s, from inside her chambers she paused before entering. Guinevere was crying, and the noble prince Arthur was comforting her.

“I just keep feeling like he’s just… somewhere out of sight, on his way, just late.” she was saying, thickly, in between heavy sniffs. “He always waits for me in the laundry rooms… then he’ll do Morgana’s washing and I do your mending, and every time I go down there it’s like I’ve forgotten he’s… He’s…”

Morgana looked down involuntarily at her sleeve. She hadn’t worn this dress in over a week. It had last been washed before the Beddau forest.

Inside, Gwen let out a watery laugh. “I keep wondering what’s keeping him! Oh, god, Arthur. He’s got to be okay!”

Arthur shushed her, soothing. In the shadows on the floor Morgana could see him draw her into his arms.

“I know.” he whispered in tones made just for Gwen. Morgana, lurking at the door to her own rooms had to strain to hear. “But he will be. He’ll be… He’ll wake up soon.”

“But how can you know?” said Gwen in that sharp voice that Morgana knew only came out when she was at the end of her rope.

Arthur didn’t let go of her “I _know_.” he repeated. Morgana recognised this voice too, she’d heard it enough in the weeks after Morgause had taken her from Camelot to wash the poison from her body. It was the voice of someone who knew that if they spoke with enough certainty they could make a lie true. _I love Uther. I love Camelot. I don’t want to see anyone hurt_ , she’d said, naive in her ignorance.

 _Merlin wouldn’t do that. Not if he didn’t have to._

“I know he won’t die, Gwen. It’s Merlin. Merlin’s never done anything right in his life – he’s going to get dying wrong as well. You’ll see.”

Gwen made a strangled noise, another half-laugh. “You shouldn’t say… We can’t laugh about…”

Morgana made a little more noise than she usually would walking into her room. She fussed over the cuff of her sleeve, an excuse to keep her eyes low, and when she looked up Gwen and Arthur were standing a proper distance apart. She shot them a knowing look anyway.

“Honestly Arthur.” she chided. “If you wanted to hassle my maid, you could at least wait until she’s finished work.”

Gwen blushed and Arthur straightened. “Actually, Gwen’s just concerned about Merlin. I’m sure you can show some understanding, Morgana?”

He was so earnest really, the valiant knight in defence of his lady, that Morgana didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or scowl. She did neither, painting contrition across her face as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. “Oh, of course.” she said. “Gwen, why don’t you take the rest of the day, go and see him?”

“Oh, but I still have to-”

“I insist.” She smiled gently. “Maybe you can take Arthur with you, teach him not to be caught in a lady’s boudoir…”

“Actually, Morgana, it was you I came to see.” Arthur shook his head and Gwen ducked respectfully out of the room. “I needed to ask you…” He hesitated, running a hand over his face.

“Ask what?” Morgana put on a face of sisterly concern, the perfect confidante, but Arthur seemed to be struggling with his words.

“It’s about Merlin. Did you see, when he…” Arthur said, swallowed, then started again. “Since he’s been, been unconscious, have you… seen anything?”

Now Morgana didn’t have to feign her confusion. “Seen what, Arthur?”

His eyes were searching her face, for what reaction she had no way to know and apparently he didn’t find it.”Anything… I just feel as if there’s something about Merlin that I didn’t know. Something he didn’t tell me, and he’s try-”

Arthur’s mouth closed so quickly Morgana could hear the click of his teeth. Her heart stilled in her chest for a beat. Had Merlin told Arthur something? Did he know? Thoughts whipped through her brain, almost too quick to follow – Gwen had seen him in her room, but Gwen could be disposed of too – killing Gwen would almost be a relief, all four of them gone, but who else knew where Arthur was? She could reach the jewelled dagger on her vanity table in two steps, but if Arthur knew she would come at him… Could she afford to wait? Could she afford not to?

But Arthur was caught staring at something behind her, his mouth still open. “Did you know Merlin could write?” he asked suddenly. Morgana was caught without an answer. “Could he? Can.” Arthur corrected himself. “Can he. I… Morgana, I have to go.”

He turned and left the room like he was being pursued, and Morgana could see – or _feel_ \- a soft blue white glow directly behind her head.

She could see the vanity, two steps away, and the only weapon in the room, out of the corner of her eye. Slowly, she turned to see what Arthur had seen.

There was nothing there.

—

Gwen was careless in her work now. After Morgana had offered to let her visit Merlin in his dying room, she hadn’t quite returned. She’d been distracted, weepy and nervous around Morgana. Sometimes Morgana thought she spied the reflection of blue white light in her eyes, but she told herself it was nothing.

But she found herself walking alone in the market. Going without Gwen left her oddly grieved. Since returning to Camelot she had been obliged to maintain the appearance of her friendship with Gwen, but she knew it was a lie. If Gwen stood in her way, she would destroy her. If Gwen’s pain would bring her what she wanted, she wouldn’t hesitate, but… It had been a comforting lie, and now Morgana could feel it slipping away.

Her meandering past the market stalls filled with pretty, useless trinkets left her unsatisfied, and she turned back early in the day. Her path took her by Gaius’ rooms and her step slowed as she passed. Like she had in the Beddau woods, she could feel the faint pull of Merlin’s weak heartbeat. It was far fainter now, but so close to his motionless body she caught the softest whisper of it. She wondered if she would still feel it after he was dead. She wondered if she could even feel it now. It could have been nothing but fancy, that strange itch at the back of her soul.

As she hesitated outside the door, she was surprised when someone walked out, his head bent. He looked up when he saw her. “My lady.” he said, straightening.

Morgana inclined her head, disconcerted. “Sir Leon.” she replied. His face was oddly pale.

“Are you here to see Merlin?”

Morgana blinked. “Is that what you came for, Sir Leon?”

He ducked his head again. “I know he was… is, only a servant, but, well… Some of the other knights agree, training isn’t quite the same without him watching from the sidelines.” Leon saw the look on her face, mistook it for confusion. “He’d sometimes bring the Prince’s boots down to the training field to clean them there. And patrol… He’d always make patrol a more pleasant experience. The knights… And I… greatly wish to see him recovered.”

“I see.” Morgana said distantly.

“My lady, if I may…” Leon said hesitantly. “What truly happened to him? You were there, were you not?” He pressed his lips together. “The Prince is loathe to talk about it.”

Morgana didn’t want to talk about it either. “Merlin was attacked by some kind of spirit creatures.” she said shortly. “Arthur fought them off and brought him back here.”

“Is it true that he led them away from you and Arthur?”

It was true. She’d seen it. Merlin hadn’t run for his life until he was certain that Arthur would be spared. Morgana could see, clear as day, his face when he looked back, on the ridge in the path before he ran. She didn’t shiver, not where Leon could see her. “He ran.” she said, “They followed. I’m sorry, Leon, I have to…”

She turned sharply and didn’t look back. Her heart was pounding in her throat.

—

Sleep didn’t come to her that night. Ten days since she and Arthur had dragged his dying manservant back to Camelot and he still wasn’t dead. It was torture. Morgana tried telling the canopy over her bed that she didn’t deserve this, but while the credulous fabric above her may have believed it the lie sounded thin and unworthy in her own ears.

She had killed him. She could try to pretend that the act had been nothing, that forgetting it would be easy, but what would she be if that were true?

Merlin had killed her, a year ago. She was beginning to suspect that she had been no more successful than he had, and Merlin had carried the weight of what he had done. Merlin had held her as she died. In the dark, hiding from sleep, her memory wavered back and forth. He had been holding her down while she choked. He had been holding her to comfort her. She could feel his hand in her hair, see the tears on his face.

When she closed her eyes, though, all she could see was his last gift to her in the forest. It _had_ been a gift, the way he had held her gaze. The way he had looked at her, like he wanted her to see him hurt. Like he wanted her to see him, weak and in pain. To watch him struggle for his last few breaths, the way she had struggled for hers.

Her eyes snapped open with a gasp and she glared at the canopy, breathing so fast that she feared she might set it alight, just like when she had first realised her magic. It wasn’t enough. Had Merlin really thought it would be enough to wash away what he had done? A thousand deaths wouldn’t make her forgive him. She had trusted him.

She turned over, and screwed her eyes tight enough to block out the memories of his.

That night she dreamed of Merlin on his sickbed lying so peacefully that he could have been a child asleep, and an endless parade of crying knights, commoners and nobles. Gwen and Arthur passed, and here were Leon and Uther, and the lady Lyneive and the laundry maids with Morgana’s half washed dresses, all come to pay their respects. Morgana stood behind him in the shadows and wept.

—

Morgana thought guilt felt like swallowing a glass of ice water on a cold morning. It was a good metaphor, she thought, for such an indefinable feeling. Like the first prickle of biting chill running down your throat to pool and sit uncomfortably in your stomach. A good metaphor for the sick feeling and the shamed tremor of it all. A very good metaphor for her to think of, considering that _she wasn’t feeling any of it_. She couldn’t be.

The next morning took her down to Gaius’ door again. Again, she hesitated outside. Why had she come?

She rested her hand on the door. The urge to run away, not to look inside kicked her stubborn nature up. She hadn’t any justifiable reason to want to see him, but she couldn’t walk away any more than she could open the door and walk inside.

Wavering outside the door, she realised she could hear low voices from inside. Arthur was there again. As quietly as she could, she pressed the door open, just far enough that she could see her brother sitting at the physician’s workbench with Gaius standing uncertainly behind him. Arthur’s shoulders were slumped.

“It’s just the same, Gaius. What I saw in the cave with the mortaeus flower, what I’m seeing now… Both times when Merlin was… was…” he swallowed, visibly, “When Merlin couldn’t be with me.”

Arthur waited, but Gaius said nothing, moving around the bench to handle some jars of yellow ointment. “It feels like they’re trying to keep me from harm.” Arthur said, watching Gaius. “Warning me when I’m on patrol, or in training, or, or when my _soup_ is too hot. Fussing, like Merlin does. Gaius, tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

Gaius was slow to answer. “…And what do you think it is, sire?”

“I think it’s magic, Gaius.” Both Gaius’ hands slammed on to the table, but Arthur kept talking. “I think it’s Merlin’s magic. I think it’s… Tendrils, and shoots escaping… whatever it is that’s happened to him. I think it’s Merlin reaching out… Sometimes it looks like words! I didn’t know Merlin even knew how to read, but it sounds like him… Gaius, tell me it isn’t true. Tell me Merlin’s not a sorcerer.”

Gaius’ voice was steady. “Merlin’s not a sorcerer, my lord.”

Arthur’s head fell into his hands. “Now say it again, and this time don’t make it a lie.”

Gaius hurried around the workbench to sit next to Arthur. His face was ashen. “My lord.” he said, “You have to understand that this was never something Merlin chose, any more than he chose the colour of his eyes, or the town where he was born. Magic is not something he chose, it’s what he _is_. In all my years, I have never seen his like… There is no sorcerer as powerful as Merlin, but he only ever used what he could do to serve you, sire.” He gestured with a hand to the back of the room, to the bed where Merlin lay, just invisible from the door. “Even now he serves you, and when he wakes he will still serve you.”

Arthur raised his head. “If he wakes.” he said dully.

“He will wake, my lord. I have faith. Merlin… has found new ways to surprise me every day since he came to Camelot. I am certain he will recover from this as well.”

If Arthur made any reply to this, Morgana didn’t hear it. She had already run from Gaius’ door, fleeing back to the castle with the blood rushing in her ears and drowning out any sound.

—

Morgana excused herself from the evening meal early, and seething. She had thought that she had calmed herself, quieted the maelstrom of conflicting emotion at least enough to sit and smile at her father and brother, but she had been wrong.

Arthur had been in a distant mood, understandably after what he had learned. Morgana felt the same odd mix of jealousy and disdain that Arthur could be so easy to read. He had never needed to learn caution with any of his secrets. Caution or fear. For her own part, Morgana locked away the revelations of the day behind the mask of the gracious ward and virtuous lady, all but grateful for the excuse not to think about it.

But no matter how careful Morgana knew to be, Arthur was distant enough to merit a gentle rebuke from Uther. When Arthur had admitted to being worried about his manservant, Uther had done nothing to hide his irritation. This mawkish sentimentality was unfitting in a man who would someday be king. Had Arthur even appointed a new manservant yet? Just how much time did he think was appropriate to spend worrying about someone who was no one at all?

Morgana had told herself that she had left the table because she had no desire to watch Uther and Arthur argue. She wanted to believe that it had nothing to do with the uninvited flash of molten anger that shot through her. But she had slammed her palms against the table as she stood, loud enough to stop the swelling quarrel in its tracks as both men stared at her. “Merlin’s not no one.” she had said, and she’d said it for no other reason than to see the look on Uther’s face, and the mirroring expression on Arthur’s.

She’d made hurried excuses, which were more convincing than most of Arthur’s well planned excuses, and Uther had looked mollified as she had swept out of the room. But inside Morgana was rioting.

And she couldn’t put off thinking about Merlin, and what Gaius had told Arthur.

Merlin was a sorcerer.

And Uther had no idea. Gaius had said Merlin _was_ magic, like he’d always been, so there had been a sorcerer in Uther’s court for years and Uther had no idea. Everything he feared had been as close as breathing, as close as the gangly smiling young man stood behind Arthur’s chair.

But Merlin had never tried to hurt him. Morgana stopped dead in the corridor, forcing a servant on her way to somewhere, Mogana didn’t even care, to scurry around her. She remembered Merlin had saved Uther’s life. When Morgause first came to Camelot, her plan to have Arthur remove his own father from the throne, and thank Morgause for the part she had played, her plan had only failed because of Merlin. All he would have had to do was nothing at all, and Uther and his purges would be nothing but a ghost behind Arthur’s throne, but Merlin… Merlin the sorcerer… Had chosen to save Uther’s life.

And then he had killed Morgana.

Merlin had chosen Uther the monster to save, and Morgana’s life had been forfeit. Had he killed her because of the magic she held? The same magic that burned bright in him? Morgana felt sick to the heart of her.

There was white blue light hovering at the back of her mind. She remembered how Merlin had looked at her when she had told him about her magic. A hundred times since that day, she had thought about it, wondering if he had already known. He’d looked uncertain and afraid, but not surprised, and then he had protected her secret. But never trusted her with his. She started walking again, changing her destination. She had to go back to the castle town. She had to go to Gaius’ rooms.

—

She didn’t knock going in. It wasn’t as though there were any secrets in that room that she didn’t already know. Gaius was sitting at the back of the room, bent over Merlin’s bed. As Morgana approached, the shiver of seeing Merlin was chased quickly by the realisation that Gaius had propped his lifeless form up against the wall and was spooning thin soup into his mouth. With a hand covering his throat, he was coaxing the unresponsive muscles to swallow. Morgana fought the urge to look away. It felt like she had caught them in a moment of intimacy that she didn’t deserve to see.

She coughed. “Gaius?”

The old man’s back straightened, tensing, but he didn’t turn around.

“How is he?” she asked, but the words sounded hollow even to her ears. She could see how he was. Eyes closed, mouth slack, his head lolling back the second Gaius let it go. The chalk white pallor of his skin had been replaced with livid yellow and purple bruises all across the right side of his face and down under his bed shirt. Being fed soup that he couldn’t wake up enough to even swallow. Morgana bit her tongue.

Gaius fitted a pillow underneath Merlin’s neck and stood, turning to face her. He looked tireder than she had ever seen him.”Why have you come here, Morgana?” There was a strange look in his eyes that Morgana didn’t recognise.

She didn’t know the answer to his question. She couldn’t honestly say anymore that all she wanted was to watch him die. “Has there been any change?” she asked.

Gaius pursed his lips. “No.”

He stood solidly between Morgana and Merlin, hiding his face from her. Morgana was almost grateful. Everything felt wrong to her, and she couldn’t explain why she had come here looking for answers from a dead man. “Leon tells me that the knights are concerned about him.” she said impulsively.

“They’ve come to visit.” Gaius admitted curtly. Morgana wondered if he was angry that she hadn’t come herself. He was still looking at her with that strange light in his eyes. “Much the same as they did when it was you in this room. Did you know that you had Merlin to thank for you recovery? I had told the king you would never wake again, but he made sure that you lived.”

Morgana stared. “What? I… How?”

“That isn’t important, Morgana. What matters is that he knew what you were. He knew what you were doing. That you tried to murder the king, your own father.” A sound if disgust escaped Morgana to hear it spoken aloud, but Gaius wasn’t finished yet. “He recognised the wickedness inside you, and he healed you anyway. You would have died, and now you owe your life to him.”

Morgana’s throat grew tight. “You knew.” she whispered. “How long?”

“Long enough.” Gaius spat. “Long enough to know that it wasn’t your _magic_ that corrupted you. All your life I protected you, I did everything I know how to help you, but you turned your back on all of us, Morgana!” His voice rose in pitch, choked and more reckless than she had ever heard from the austere physician who had watched over her childhood, and Morgana realised with horror that his cheeks were wet. He threw an arm back towards Merlin, unmoving on the pallet bed, and glared “And now,” he said, “now you have taken my son from me!”

At this, his voice broke entirely. Morgana had just the barest moment to wonder whether Gaius truly could have been Merlin’s father before that thought was lost in the sudden lump of tears forcing its way up her throat. It was a surprise to her, bewildering, this uninvited sentiment, because she had been sure she didn’t have this kind of feeling left in her, and to cry for Merlin? Her eyes stung as she struggled to hold it in.

But her lips were quivering and her eyes filling, and she knew Gaius could see her. She turned away abruptly, hid her face. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her now. Oh, gods. She couldn’t look him in the eyes the way Merlin had looked into hers.

She swallowed, hard, and tried to look up, but Gaius was watching her now with the kind of rage she could never have imagined in his face. “Get out.” he whispered. There was nothing left to his voice. It was all he could do to whisper, but Morgana could hear the venom to it. “Get out!”

She left without another word, and all but ran to the stables. The sun was beginning to sink in the sky, and it was a good half hour’s ride to the Beddau forest.


	3. Chapter 3

She found him in the spirit’s wood sitting in the hollow of the rotted tree where he’d last met her eye. He was huddled under the mossy stone with his arms around his knees, looking smaller than he did when he was alive. Morgana was careful not to cross the boundaries, not to enter the wood with its ghosts. She just watched the huddled form of a sorcerer, a servant, a traitor and murderer, Merlin. He didn’t acknowledge her presence, didn’t turn his head away from the wood. She thought perhaps he didn’t know she was there, but then he spoke, his voice a weak smile too distant, too translucent to hate.

“Morgana.” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving here. I’ll be gone after a day or two, wait and see.”

She swallowed, feeling weightless. “I left you in Gaius’ rooms.”

“You left me here. Arthur carried my body back to Gaius.” Merlin watched the woods steadily. “I wish he hadn’t; Gaius didn’t deserve that.”

Morgana thought of the old man’s tears. It might have hurt him less to have heard about Merlin’s death far from home, but what kind of person would think about hurting Gaius before the possibility that he could save them?

The shadowed figure in the dead tree drew a deep breath. “In the day it’s not so hard. Sometimes I start to feel like I can cling on to…” He swallowed, hard. “But… at night, they come to me here. The ones who are already gone, they want me to… to be like them.” His shoulders were slumped, his body drawn in on itself, small and scared and hunted.

“Gaius told me that you saved my life.”

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to say it so bluntly, but Merlin didn’t seem surprised. “Sort of.” he said. “I healed your body.”

“Why?”

“I had to.” He still hadn’t turned to face her. “You were my friend once. I killed you once. I didn’t have it in me to do it again.”

“How?”

“I spoke to… a being of magic that I knew. He wasn’t happy to do it, but I made him. You wouldn’t have survived the night, but… I still don’t know why this wasn’t death magic, why I didn’t need to go to the Isle of the Blessed. But you wouldn’t have had time to wait for me to return if I had.”

“Why did you do it?” Part of her wanted to ask who he was that he could know so much, but the question forced its way out, raw and vulnerable. She needed to ask, needed an answer she could understand. Because I wanted to was beyond her comprehension. She hated Merlin, hated him so much that it hurt her soul, tore away little pieces of it. She had thought at least he hated her the same way.

Then he looked up at her, and she felt a shock of fear. His eyes were dark gaping holes in his face. I’ll be gone soon, wait and see. “I didn’t know what you would do with it.” he said, and Morgana wondered if he had even seen her intake of breath. “I didn’t know you’d be trying to hurt Arthur. If I had it to do again…” He shrugged his shoulders. “But it’s done now. If I’m going to regret something that’s already done, there are worse things to regret than saving you.” Turning back to gaze into the forest he leaned his head back against the bark of the tree. “And I deserve this for what I’ve done.”

“Merlin…”

“All that’s left is to wait. After another few nights, I’ll be nothing but my regrets. But Morgana…” He turned those empty eye sockets on her again, and it took all she had not to back away. He seemed to be groping for words, but whatever he was trying to say he obviously couldn’t find them. He turned away again to face the deep woods. “I gave my life for Arthur. Now I can’t protect him anymore.”

Morgana would wonder more than once in the days and months and years that were to follow just why she chose to do what she did next. She didn’t understand it even as her feet moved under her. But she crossed the threshold of the woods. Stepped over the roots of the dead tree to stand in its hollow with the frightened, defeated little spirit that was her greatest enemy. She held out her hand. “Merlin. Touch me.”

“I can’t.”

“Merlin.”

He looked up at her with a sucking void where his eyes should be. His touch was cold, colder than any ice, colder than death. When Morgana pulled him to his feet it was harder than it should have been. His hand was insubstantial in hers, and his body resisted her pull.

He was biting his lips, uncertain. “Why?” he asked her.

She hesitated. “You were my friend once.”

Concentrating on just keeping his hand in hers, she walked him slowly back, into the rays of the sunset. As they crossed the threshold of the woods he vanished, dissolving and blowing away in the late dusk light.

—

Gwen was the one to tell her that Merlin was awake. Morgana had ridden slowly back to Camelot, walked through the lower town, where her path had gone nowhere near the physician’s rooms. She had gone directly to her chambers, speaking to no one, and she had pretended to sleep all night. In the morning she had brushed her hair and dressed herself and forgiven the absence of her maid, and she had waited until it was almost midday before Gwen came to tell her the news.

She had shown Gwen a pleased smile, and said she was so happy, and she would have to find time to go and see him. She had not thought about what she would say to Morgause.

She hadn’t thought about what she would say to Merlin when she saw him again, but she didn’t realise she wasn’t thinking about that until she almost walked straight into him.

He was walking with Arthur through the corridors. Limping with Arthur, as freeing his soul from the ghosts had done nothing to heal his broken bones. His left arm was in a sling, and Morgana could see white bandages creeping up under the collar of his shirt. He leaned heavily on a Y-shaped crutch, and the lean brought him close in to Arthur who was speaking to him in a low voice. When he saw Morgana he stopped.

“Merlin.” she said, mindful that Arthur was watching. “How are you feeling?”

Arthur touched his hand lightly to Merlin’s shoulder, the good one, and stepped away. “I… will… Leave you two.” he said, with all his customary subtlety. Morgana supposed her outburst at the table last night had some use. “But Merlin… We’ll talk later.”

Merlin looked like he wanted to ask Arthur to stay, but then he nodded. Arthur nodded at Morgana, brotherly, then walked off leaving her with Merlin.

They looked at one another in silence for a moment before Merlin spoke. “I know you did this.” he said, “But I don’t know how.”

Neither did Morgana, so she didn’t speak.

“It was something to do with my blood… You were trying to do this to Arthur.”

Morgana’s throat tightened. “Perhaps you can figure it out.” she said neutrally. “Tell me, Merlin, what’s the last thing you remember?”

He looked at her suspiciously. “I don’t remember anything at all after the night when Lord Collett was here.” he grimaced. Morgana resisted the urge to sigh. The night she had given Merlin’s blood to the forest dirt. Merlin was watching her. “I don’t suppose it’s worth asking…” he shook his head, frustrated. “I suppose you won’t tell me what happened?”

Morgana stopped. Merlin looked at her steadily, trying not to look hopeful and only managing to look resentful. Words queued themselves up behind her lips. She could tell him. Tell him she knew, about the magic and about what he had done for her. Tell him what she had done for him. Tell him she had been wrong, she was sorry. Would it change how he felt about her? Would it help her decide how she felt about him?

“Morgana?” A frown, a searching expression crept across Merlin’s face.

“You’re right.” she said. “I won’t.”

As she stalked away down the castle corridor, Merlin’s eyes on her felt like ice water on a cold day.


End file.
